


Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die

by Naamah_Beherit



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Comedy, Humour, M/M, alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7266694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naamah_Beherit/pseuds/Naamah_Beherit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of these days, Mairon is going to stop partaking in Melkor's experiments. They tend to lead to a great deal of trouble, natural disasters, and uncomfortable self-realisations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die

Mairon woke up to see trees.

A brilliant, blue sky could be noticed through the leaves, and he could not remember the last time he had seen the sky that was not covered in thick clouds that always dropped snowfall on him whenever he left Utumno. He began to suspect that the clouds accumulated some of Melkor's deviousness and developed a peculiar kind of sense that allowed them to notice him and snow only to spite him.

So right now he was content that there was no snow, and for the tiniest of seconds it was enough. Then he realised that he did not know where he was; moreover, he had no clue where Melkor was, and losing the Vala was like asking for a disaster. A bigger one than usually when he was concerned, that is.

Mairon sat up and regarded his surroundings with bitterness of someone who should never have ended up in a predicament such as this one, of someone who was utterly under-appreciated, and whose entire life was just a never-ending line of disasters. Granted, some of those disasters were of his own making, and a vast majority of them came in pairs with being Melkor's lieutenant – which, Mairon would never hesitate to admit, happened because of his own choice.

He would, however, have thought twice if he had been told that joining Melkor meant being his external common sense as well. At least this was what he kept telling himself. Maybe if he did that long enough, he would finally believe it.

Trees. Nature. Wherever 'here' was, it was not good, not good at all. Nature meant Yavanna and the rest of the Valar, and Mairon certainly did _not_ want to meet them any time soon.

He rose to his feet, fell over, and realised that he was hung-over, still a little bit drunk, and remembered that it was, as always, Melkor's fault.

“Look what I did!” the Vala had happily said that one particular morning as he had held up two bottles with glowing _something_ inside them. “This will finally have on us the effect alcohol is rumoured to have.”

Mairon had thought it a good idea back then. There had been no harm in trying, he had told himself. Melkor _certainly_ would not have conjured up something that would cause them harm. And as always, he should have known better.

He sighed, stood up – this time, with success – and tentatively ventured into the woods, with a strong conviction that he would first drag Melkor all the way back to Utumno, and then he would yell at the Vala until the latter grew some common sense of his own. His pace, leisurely as it was at first, quickened considerably as he realised that towers he saw in the distance were, in fact, outskirts of Almaren. Of all the places in Arda, they just _had_ to end up in Almaren.

For a moment, Mairon seriously considered retirement.

Then he noticed a pond, and a shock of long, black hair adorned with a flower crown, and with a heavy, resigned sigh he realised that it was Melkor lying there as if it were the most common occurrence for him. He approached the Vala, whose legs were in the water as though at some point he had decided that swimming had been a good idea, but had fallen asleep before implementing it. A wide, happy, entirely drunken smile was on his face, and Mairon realised that it was the first time he had ever seen such an expression on his master's face.

Something warm blossomed in his chest. He examined it, recognised it as a feeling of some kind, and quenched it with panic and no small deal of ferocity. His features carefully arranged in a mask of indifference he did not feel at all, Mairon knelt beside Melkor and shook him until the Vala opened his eyes. He could not be called alert and sober, but at least he was awake.

“Heeeey,” he said far too loud, his smile widening even more, “Mairon, it's good... it's... Maaairon.”

“Keep your voice down, my lord, please,” the Maia urged him in nothing more but a whisper. “We cannot remain here, it is not safe.”

He tried to help Melkor stand up, but it was doomed to fail from the very beginning – a few futile attempts resulted only in Mairon half-sitting, half-kneeling on the sand, and Melkor happily curled around him, his head in Mairon's lap as if on the most comfortable pillow ever created.

“Mairon,” the Vala muttered slowly, his half-open eyes focused on the Maia he decided to reduce to a role of a portable bed, “Maaaaairon.”

The aforementioned Mairon sighed again, suddenly regretting his life choices. Each and all of them.

“Mairon,” Melkor said once more. His eyes were brown at that moment; unexpectedly so, given the fact that he preferred icy blue most of the time. “You've such a... pretty hair, you know that?”

Mairon choked on his own breath.

“And,” the Vala went on with that particular kind of certainty that was born of complete inebriation, “your eyes are pretty too.”

The Maia rolled the very eyes that were just so unexpectedly complimented, and realised that if Aulë somehow found them at that very moment and asked him to come back, he would do so in a blink of an eye.

“You're pretty,” Melkor concluded with childlike honesty and poked Mairon in the chest. “You.”

“Yes, me,” Mairon said with absolute resignation. “Thank you, my lord.”

He briefly thought of telling Melkor that the Vala himself was not that bad looking either, but in the end decided against it. It was not his place to compliment his master – although, if they remained in this place any longer, he would probably end up doing something terribly disrespectful.

No, babysitting the mightiest of Valar certainly had _not_ been mentioned in the job description.

“I...” Melkor raised his hand, missed his intended target a few times, and finally managed to grab the flower crown on his head, crushing a few flowers in the process. “I made it for you. D'you like it?”

Mairon's silver tongue, famous in entire Arda, failed him for the first time in his life.

“It is a... ah,” he began slowly, unsure of how to proceed now that boundaries of propriety seemed to have crumbled and fallen to pieces, “it is an impressive crown of—of flowers, my lord. Truly impressive.”

“I'm glad you like it,” Melkor smiled brightly and put the crown on Mairon's head. The Maia was fairly certain that the blush of embarrassment that covered his face matched the colour of his hair. “There. Perfect.”

 Mairon took a deep breath, resisted an urge to scream in frustration, and after a long while managed to disentangle himself from Melkor. After another, even longer one, he succeeded in pulling the Vala up to his feet and let him lean against his side. Melkor, lifeless and already half-asleep again, rested his chin on top of Mairon's head in a way that was uncomfortable on so many different levels.

“Mairon...” he muttered again straight into that fiery red hair and the flower crown covering it. “My Maia.”

“Yes, my lord, that is quite obvious.”

And it was, it always had been, only the... outcome was meant to be different, was it not? There were supposed to vanquish the Valar and bring Arda to its knees. They were supposed to be _glorious_.

Hangovers, flower crowns, and waking up in Almaren with no recollection of past few hours were _not_ meant to happen. And on top of it all, Melkor mumbling something unintelligible about him was certainly beyond anything Mairon had signed up for.

Thoughts of retirement came back and demanded his attention.

“My lord,” he sighed, trying to ignore both the thoughts and the arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders, “we need to go before your brother realises we are here.”

“To the Void with my brother,” was the answer he received in return, a surprisingly sober one.

“To the Void with _us_ if we are found.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I'd protect you,” Melkor fiercely announced and tripped over a root that was located in the very midst of the trail. Mairon was sure it was Yavanna's idea of a joke.

“Thank you, my lord, I am sure you would,” he replied, fully aware that Melkor was currently unable to defend them against anything or anyone. Nonetheless, a confession induced with such a drunken honesty made him think that maybe he was not _that_ expendable, at least not in the nearest future.

He smiled to himself, wrapped his arm around the Vala's waist – it was, of course, to help him walk, nothing more; and if he repeated that often enough, maybe he would even convince himself – and led him through the woods in a direction he hoped to eventually allow them to return to Utumno. He thought briefly of calling Thuringwethil for aid, but in the end thought better of it – if Melkor found out that someone saw him in such a state and that it was Mairon who allowed it to happen, not much would be left of the Maia once he was done with him. And that would surely happen no matter all those things he was muttering into his ear as they went, things Mairon pretended not to understand, things that made his cheeks burn and his mind crave alcohol once again, because it was impossible to listen to them while being sober.

And so they went on, and it was the longest walk of his life.

* * *

“Mairon?”

A few days passed since their return, and Mairon did not see so much as a glimpse of Melkor. He hoped things would get back to normal, he really did. And then he remembered that it _was_ Melkor, after all, and nothing was normal when the Vala was concerned. But still… technically, he could have sought him out. He could have demanded explanation. He could have—

He could have done nothing and he knew that; so he took a deep breath, plastered a soft, neutral smile onto his face, and turned around to look at his master.

He was flawless, as always, his piercing blue eyes seeing everything – especially the crown of withered flowers lying on Mairon's desk. And yet somehow, deep down in the most unconscious part of his self, Mairon missed those brown eyes he had gazed into in the woods surrounding Almaren.

“Do you have a moment?” Melkor asked in his most indifferent voice.

“Of course, my lord,” the Maia answered. “For you, always.”

“Regarding the latest... _experiment_ of mine,” Melkor said, casting one last sideways glance at the flower crown, “I wanted to ensure that there are no misconceptions about what happened.”

Mairon somehow managed to keep that smile unchanged. “And what _did_ happen, my lord?”

He was almost certain that Melkor's jaw muscles twitched.

“Nothing happened, lieutenant,”  he finally said and straightened his back. “Let us consider that experiment to be one we will not repeat.”

Mairon nodded his acknowledgement. Because of some reason he did not dare to comprehend, he did not trust his voice. And, after all, what could he possibly say to make this… _What, actually?_ he bitterly realised. To make this different? To make this _better_? He was but a Maia, and as such, he simply took what he was given by his Vala. Even if it did make him clench his fists and hate himself.

Melkor regarded him once again, and something unrecognisable appeared in his eyes; something that Mairon could not hope to decipher. And then he turned around to leave, and the Maia could breathe again. He was not even aware that he was holding his breath.

“Oh, and Mairon?”

 _Please go away_.

“Is it safe to keep those... flowers here? Will you not set them on fire by accident?”

Mairon clenched his fists even tighter, but his face remained unchanged. “I will not, my lord.”

Only when Melkor's footsteps could no longer be heard, Mairon reached out and set the crown aflame. Something within him died as he did it. He did not know what it was and somehow, he no longer cared.

He watched the ashes as they cooled, and his heart cooled alongside them.


End file.
